


The Last Hours

by macabre



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Depression, M/M, Post Beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabre/pseuds/macabre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Cuba, Alex struggles to feel the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Hours

Alex takes walks late at night, mostly just because he can. After Hank has gone to bed and Sean is zoned out on the couch not really watching anything. He knows the professor is still awake, but Alex isn’t sure what he does this late at night. Planning tomorrow probably. The tomorrow of their futures, of the futures of their kind. Planning every tomorrow there is except his own.

Charles still trains with them, still eats most meals with them. He smiles and encourages everyone, but he’s quieter now. Practicing the navigation of the mansion in a wheelchair. The worst is when Alex finds him sprawled at the bottom of the stairs; wheelchair on top of twisted legs bent inwards towards each other in the most unnatural fashion. Alex grits his teeth and helps him up, hands locked on top of Charles’ over the armrests. He tells the professor to just ask next time, to which he responds very quietly, “Certainly.” Rolling his eyes, Alex leaves before Charles can take the memory from him. They’ve all figured out what happened with Moira.

Truth is, Alex feels just as alone as ever. Hank is back in the lab all day, and even though they’ve reached some kind of impasse between the two of them, Alex avoids engaging with the blue furball beyond training, which for Alex these days means moving target practice with said furball monitoring outputs.

Then there’s Sean, who has the amazing ability to really clear Alex’s mind. Since Cuba, Alex silently hopes for the few and between moments Sean offers to take Alex up with him. In the air, Alex has to wear earphones to block the screams, but it’s worth it for the helplessness he feels. In those moments, there isn’t much Alex can do but hold on and trust Sean. He could fall and that could be it.

Maybe picking up on his teammate’s morbid inclinations, Sean for some reason tries to avoid Alex during training. He won’t even try with Hank, who’s twice the size of them nearly put together, so Sean trains solo a lot of days. They all fall into this routine, and Alex realizes just how broken their small team is, all preferring their own company.

So Alex takes his walks alone and never speaks to anyone about them. They start out fairly short but begin to branch into hours away from the mansion. He stops walking at a certain point and usually just sits in a tree somewhere. He climbs as high as he can and imagines he’s still flying, and if he is a little reckless jumping down, well, at least it wouldn’t be Sean’s fault.

Winter comes. It snows, and Alex has never seen much of it before. He can easily warm himself up of course, so he takes to wearing only his light jacket outside. Sean calls him an idiot and Hank says nothing. When he notices how pale he is in comparison with the snowflakes, Alex notes that maybe he should start training in daylight or taking walks in the afternoon too.

He doesn’t though. In fact, he accidently stays out all night, falling asleep huddled against his favorite tree. He wakes up and can’t move he’s so cold – he can’t even produce a plasma blast at first. He panics, but the long moment passes and then he can feel the energy moving through again, bringing with it warmth and feeling in his toes.

The next night he hesitates by the door, hands feeling the thick coats lined up there. Sean’s is an ugly plaid thing, Hank’s a navy blue, and the professor’s solid black. Charles’ has been hanging without use for awhile; it’s too hard for him to push himself around in the snow, so he’s been confined mostly indoors.

Alex leaves without his coat, a long brown thing Charles gave him some time ago, complete with matching gloves and a scarf. He’s only worn it a few times on group outings when Charles insisted; he left the gloves and scarf behind.

Tonight he goes out barefooted. He has jeans on and a white t-shirt, but nothing to protect him from the bitter nights in New York. He laughs as he sinks his toes in the fresh snow. He can’t even feel it. In his numbness he leaves the kitchen door open.

He starts running, but stops when he realizes he has no reason to run. He has all the time in the world and nowhere to go. It’s still snowing a little, enough that his exposed arms and face are slick from where the flakes melt on his skin. His eyelashes feel heavy, like he’s been crying, but Alex can’t remember ever crying.

The fallen lamppost marks the spot he usually stops. Long icicles cover the slanted structure. Alex runs his hands along it, trying to warm them just enough that they’ll fall one by one. Instead it just makes his fingers incredibly cold.

Frowning, Alex holds them up and sees how white they are, with angry pink to red marking the tips. He flexes, feels how stiff they are. Does the same with his toes, except he could never feel them to begin with.

Turning in the direction of the mansion, Alex feels fear for the first time since Cuba, and that in itself is enough to warm him a little, but never enough. His condensed breath hangs in front of him; it comes quicker and quicker. He shouldn’t have come out with far without anything on his feet or arms. He knows it, knew it when he walked out the door.

Alex slows his breathing. Lets the numbness take over. He looks over at his tree, waiting for him, and he knows he won’t disappoint. He walks right over and leaps for the lowest branch.

It too has icicles and slick, wet snow covering it. He’s climbed the tree in this condition before, but never while this exposed. He struggles; it’s a slow climb, his feet never able to grasp anything and his hands don’t want to let go of the ice. He’s only made it midway up when he has a split moment of realization that his fingers are empty before he hits the ground.

His back takes the shock. He lies there, unable to move, fingers still curled and reaching for the next branch. He needs to get up, to get home as soon as possible, but he can’t. Or won’t. Or really, he doesn’t care.

The view above him is dark. He can make out the individual tree limbs still, the reflection of the ice, and above that a few stars. His breath comes in and out and fogs out his vision. When it comes back, he knows he’s still alive.

He’s not sure if he falls asleep, it takes so long for him to realize something has changed, but he notices his arms suddenly. He _feels_ his arms. There are other arms, and fingers too, wrapped around his arms. Rubbing them. There’s a voice too, multiple voices, telling him to wake up.

“Alex! God damn it!” Alex laughs then, because he recognizes the voice. He also thinks that his lips are frozen in a smile.

It’s jarring to have the professor’s mental voice and physical voice yelling at him at the same time because neither are saying the same thing. One is _Oh my God, I think he’s dead, he can’t he dead – should have put a stop to this sooner – my fault_ and the other, “Alex! Can you hear me?”

Charles hasn’t been able to hear him because Alex hasn’t had anything to tell him. Even in the beginning when they dug him out of prison, Alex couldn’t tell him how lost he felt out of the system, how unneeded he felt even as a part of a covert team.

He’s trying to pull him up; Charles has built remarkable strength in his arms as his legs wither away. Alex has seen them once in recent weeks; the skin isn’t as tight as it used to be and there are yellow sores on the back of them. Charles looked briefly ashamed, but Alex didn’t feel one way or another about them. They just are the way they are.

Now the arms are thicker than the legs, but Charles still can’t pull him up. He only manages to pull himself down on top of Alex, the chair rolling a foot away. It’s his breath now that fogs his vision, but it’s warm. So much warmer than he’s felt in a long time.

“Professor.” It’s a groan and a cough. Even before lying out in the cold, Alex can’t remember using his voice in the past couple of days. He remembers shouting at Hank to stay out of the way on Tuesday.

“Alex.” Charles is shivering on top of him. It feels weird, partly because he can tell exactly where it stops on Charles’ body, and partly because the little feeling he has is both heightened and dull.

He has to push himself up because the professor is no help now; Charles is hanging onto him as if he were drowning. Shrivering, moaning, and crying just enough Alex notices it. His arms hurt, his fingers and toes the worst. He is overcome with the thought of frostbite and losing any of them. It’s short lived when he thinks about the professor wheeling himself all the way out here by himself.

Ignoring the way his back feels torn in two as he stands, he grabs the wheelchair and clumsily places Charles back in it through the process of collapsing in it himself before untangling Charles’ fingers from his t-shirt. He tries to stand up all the way, but finds it easier to walk with a hunch.

His thin clothes are heavy with moisture. He thinks about his coat, hanging by the door. Looking down at the professor’s coat, it’s the darkest thing around him, blacker than the sky or trees or Charles’ lashes. He’s got on black gloves as well, one wrapped awkwardly around him and clasped onto Alex’s bare arm as he pushes them both back home.

The wind is howling – it’s all Alex hears. If the professor tries to speak to him through either voice, he never hears it. The mansion slowly wheels into view and Alex swears it is the very sound of warmth. When they reach the kitchen door, it takes awhile for Alex to find the strength to get Charles and his chair up the seemingly small gap between ground and floor. The lights are all out. Even Sean will be asleep by now.

Charles has a room on the first floor for now, until his usual room can be made more accessible. Alex abandons the wheelchair a few feet from the door, stiffly picking up the professor and half dragging him through his gloriously comfortable bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom.

As gently as his fingers will let him, Alex lays Charles down in the bathtub. It takes him a fumbling minute to get the hot water on, but he does it, gasping as he holds his hands under the stream as it warms.

Charles flops around, trying to rest his head on the edge of the tub, but it’s so long and deep he has trouble. Alex moves back to his side, pulling off his coat first, then every layer until he’s all skin, pale arms and yellow legs.

“Alex,” he moans very softly. “Alex.”

Alex stands as best he can, thankful for the first time that night he never put shoes on. He has decidedly less clothing to take off now. He sits on the side of the tub first, begins to lower one foot in the steaming water. His cry turns into a pant, then a grunt. He pulls the foot back out, his face so wet he’s not sure if there are tears or not.

Not sure if he can do it. He’s not sure if he will ever be warm and whole again. Fuck his toes and his fingers. He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t need anything but for Charles to be alright, not frozen because of his stupid stunt.

And Charles must just want Alex to feel again. He throws both of his arms around the blonde and pulls him over the side. Alex screams loud enough he’d make Sean proud as his body submerges, water splashing over the side onto the tiled floor. A jumble of curses warm his tongue, Alex grabbing onto Charles whose head is sinking under the rising water because he won’t let go of the younger mutant. Alex props them both up against the back as he bites his lip, sure his toes are in fact gone, popped off somewhere in the bath.

His breathing slows. His arms still around the professor’s waist, Charles’ still around his as well. His dark hair curls in the steam. Alex has to focus on something, so he focuses on Charles’ head against his chest. He can’t hear anything over his own breathing, so Alex rolls his shoulder until he can see more of Charles’ face.

Blue eyes roll, as if the professor is waking up. They flutter, trying to stay open and locked on Alex, but Alex just smiles. He adjusts Charles’ body so it’s most comfortably located, half on top of his own. Then he stays still. Still enough that the professor can sleep. He can drift off and not worry about anything, hopefully. Certainly not about Alex, because he can wiggles his toes again.

A clock chimes the hour. It’s three in the morning. Everyone sleeps. Except Alex, who keeps them both afloat. His skin feels on fire, but the light blanket Charles makes over him soothes it. He drops his chin against the top of Charles’ head in what seems purely selfish.

Something bothers him about the new situation, and it isn’t just being naked with a man he calls professor. He feels strangely at peace with where he’s ended up, and maybe that’s all that bothers him. He should feel strange, but he can’t. If Alex is adrift, then Charles is the lifeline and Alex is just now learning to cling to him with everything he has.

The water goes cold. He’s still sore standing up; the bathroom mirror displays his back in mostly deep purple and blue. He carefully lifts Charles out, patting him dry before slipping him in bed. The covers are thick, but Alex makes sure to find an extra to put on top anyway.

Lingering at bedside, Alex knows this night will change things between them. Neither can ignore the late night strolls or blasé training attitudes anymore. He’ll be watched carefully from now on. Tonight cost him something, but it cost Charles too.

Alex moves the hair from his forehead and kisses his temple. It’s the first time he’s ever kissed anyone in remembrance. He knows he must have swapped sloppy kisses with family as a child, but those memories were blown none too gently away as powers manifested and his first day in juvie led to confrontation with not only inmates, but guards and a deceptively nice old doctor.

Alex was used to having nothing. Then came Charles and an impossible team that he’d only just been on the threshold of believing in when it was torn apart. He watched men who shortly before called each other friends take everything from each other. He won’t forget it.

The next night comes. Alex looks out the kitchen door. A still, crisp night. The kind he especially loves.

He locks the door and turns towards Charles’ room. He’s there, sitting in his chair, waiting. He doesn’t have a chessboard or bottle of Scotch out now; for Alex, he has only his arms, open, to fold him in and promise tomorrow will be better. Charles plans the future for them all. He tells Alex all about it.


End file.
